


Off-White

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flimsy jacket, tennis shoes and a backpack aren't suitable gear for walking through a freak snow storm. But then he didn't exactly plan this either. He's never wished for a cell phone more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off-White

It was freaky; one minute everything was fine if maybe a little chilly, the next he couldn't see his hand in front of his face through the snow blizzard. Even the locals seem confused.

He's waiting at the curb in front of his high school of the week for Dean or dad to pick him up when the storm hits, seemingly out of nowhere. It is October and he'd grown out of his winter coat last year, so all he is wearing is his thin jacket and with the snow came freezing temperatures. He hadn't packed any gloves or a scarf this morning when leaving for school, not anticipating getting snowed in later that day. It was even sunny when he left the house that morning!

Muttering about freaky blizzards and surprise snow storms, he wraps his arms tighter around him. It's very, very cold and the snow is piling up around him and on him. He got kicked out of the warm school fifteen minutes ago when the janitor went home. The man offered him a ride, but he declined knowing his brother or father should be on their way to pick him up. If only they would hurry up so he wouldn't have to freeze his ass off. He has a tiny ledge to take shelter under, but it's not doing a whole lot - try nothing at all - to keep him warm. He has never wished for his cell phone more than he does now.

The streets are deserted, fewer and fewer cars on the roads until they stopped going altogether. There's about two inches of thick snow on the ground already and it's only piling up higher and higher. His feet are starting to go numb from the cold, his tennis shoes thin and flimsy, unable to keep the wet cold out. He stomps his feet to try and get the blood circulation going, but it does nothing to warm them up again. His fingers, though jammed under his armpits for warmth, start tingling from the freezing cold until he can't feel his hands anymore. He realizes he can't stay here and wait, it's been half an hour now and there's no sign of Dean or dad. He debates leaving for all of ten minutes, but by then his face is numb too and it's really the only option if he wants to not freeze to death against his school building.

The first steps are stumbled, his feet awkward and soaking wet already. The snow reaches his ankles by now and he can feel the wet seep through the bottom of his jeans. Great, he'll be wet and freezing by the time he gets home. The snow is falling harder now, something he thought not possible. It's sticking to his eyelashes, making it almost impossible to see properly. If had did have a cell phone, he wouldn't have been able to use it anyway, his fingers are so frozen. His jacket is starting to soak through too, fabulous.

He shuffles away from the school building and into the street. He usually pays more attention to the route to school, but they've only been in this town for two days and with as many test as days, he focused on reading through his text books on the way to school instead of watching where they were going. It makes his pace slower, having to stop at every corner and squint around for familiar surroundings and directions. He knows the address of the place they're staying at, but no one's on the streets to ask and the more he walks, the fewer houses there are to ring the doorbell and ask, until there are no houses at all and he's alone in the dark. Shit.

He tries going back, retracing his footsteps that have already filled up with new snow but it only turns him around even more until he's well and truly lost. It gets darker and colder and before he knows it, the only light around comes from an old streetlamp a few feet away, emanating a weak, soft glow. He sidles up next to it, suddenly afraid of the darkness around him and waits there for someone, anyone to find him. The snow keeps falling, they're not even flecks anymore but just one long, thick white blanket coming down from the clouds to cover the world and incidentally, Sam Winchester.

Exhaustion settles over him slowly, making him sleepy and drowsy. He can't feel his legs anymore, his hands are numb, his eyes keep falling shut and all he really wants is to go to sleep and not wake up for a long, long time. He's not sure how long he's been outside, but he can't really feel the cold anymore. It's as if someone wrapped a warm blanket around him and he sighs with relief. Now he can go to sleep. His backpack makes a nice makeshift seat and he props himself up against the streetlamp, safe in the light it wields to fight off the monsters in the dark. He closes his eyes and feels himself drift off.

"Sammy!"

A voice penetrates the fog in his mind, causing him to groan in protest. He was sleeping, damn it!

"Sammy, come on, wake up!"

There's something familiar about the voice though and yeah, now he's awake. He tries to pry his eyes open, but the lids are heavy and won't cooperate. He groans again, this time with frustration.

"Open your eyes, Sammy, come on. Don't do this to me."

It suddenly all clicks into place. Dean. It's Dean's voice urging him to wake up and open his eyes. With that realization comes a world of hurt. Ice cold, searing pain throughout his entire body. He wants to scream, but the sound gets stuck in his throat. A warm hand touches his face and it hurts so, so much. A strangled moan leaves his throat at the contact and this time, Dean hears him.

"Sammy! Oh thank god, Sammy! Come on, open your eyes, squirt. Open your eyes and look at me. I need to know you're okay to move."

His eyes still won't cooperate, but his mouth finally does. He manages to tear his lips apart - freaking ow! - and whisper Dean's name. Apparently it's enough for Dean because the next moment he is being lifted, dropped into the backseat of the Impala and driven to the ER. The last thing he hears through the roar of pain in his ears is Dean's apology.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy, I'm sorry."


End file.
